


Ass O'Lantern

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Halloween, Inappropriate Pumpkin, Season/Series 14, Team Free Will 2.0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 18:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: It's Halloween. Mind the flying pumpkin guts.





	Ass O'Lantern

**Author's Note:**

> The world is a really heavy place right now, so... I wrote this off of a bit of inspiration I found when looking for a design for my own pumpkin carving. (The image appears at the end of the fic. It's pumpkin art and not really explicit, but it is the reason for the T rating rather than G, and miiiiiight??? be maybe???? considered NSFW? Just FYI.)
> 
> This story contains a lot of elements I don't often touch: There's no pairing, and it's just fluff and family fun, with a tiny bit of adult humor w/r/t Dean's pumpkin. Come in and enjoy.
> 
> PS, no actual pumpkins were defiled in the writing of this story.

“So… it’s a holiday tradition.”

“No. Well— sort of.” Castiel sighs as he stands next to Jack, surveying the wide open field around them, dotted with orange spheres of varying sizes and states of decay. He spares a moment to look down at himself and then out across the expanse at Dean, Sam, and the other humans, and he knows he looks absurdly out of place in his suit and trench coat next to all their denim and flannel. Dean had offered to lend him some more appropriate clothing for this venture, but he’d declined.

It wasn’t the first time he’d stuck out like a sore thumb among humans, and he’d grown quite fond of this uniform over the years. If he really cared to wear flannel, he’d have bought his own by now.

“It’s a  _ human  _ tradition,” Jack tries again.

“Yes.”

“But possibly not a holiday.”

A familiar triumphant cry goes up some distance away, and Castiel glances up to catch sight of Dean standing over a fairly large, bright orange gourd, one fist raised in victory. “I think it depends on who you ask. For Dean, it’s definitely a holiday.”

“And we’re going to take these… pumpkins… back to the Bunker, and carve faces into them.” 

“Yes.” He watches as Jack stops beside an extremely large pumpkin— one too big for any normal human to carry. “No, not that one,” he says. “It has to be one that looks like a person your size could carry it.” After some indecision, he crouches next to one a few feet away. “Like this one.” He rolls it over to inspect it, only to discover the backside has caved in and begun to rot. He makes a face, stands, and wipes his hands on his coat. 

“ _ Like _ that one, but not that one?”

“Correct.”

“Because…?”

“Because it’s rotten on one side. You look until you find one that’s as close to round and perfect as they come.”

“It seems… tedious.” Jack aims for a much smaller pumpkin, about the size of his head. Cas nods, a smile pulling at the left corner of his mouth. He watches as Jack kneels and lifts the pumpkin, breaking it from the vine, and turns it over in his hands to inspect it on all sides. “And yet I feel strangely accomplished.”

“I believe that’s the appropriate spirit for this activity.” Cas spots what he thinks he wants a few yards away and goes for it while Jack wanders back toward the horse-drawn wagon that brought them all out to the middle of this field. This one just barely passes muster on “it has to look like you can carry it” but when Cas lifts it, it’s light as a feather. He inspects it for flaws and finds nothing damning. There’s a flat side that he thinks will serve well for carving, and a few deep ridges, but no soft spots or obvious rotting. He nods decisively and starts back toward the wagon.

Sam and Dean, coming from the far side of the field, reach the wagon at about the same time. Sam’s pumpkin is similar in size and shape to Jack’s, while Dean’s is the biggest of them all, and the man is obviously struggling to carry it while trying very hard to appear as though it’s no trouble at all.

Cas shakes his head and, at the bottom of the wagon’s steps, holds his smaller pumpkin out to Dean.

Dean postures, rolls his eyes, but ultimately takes the trade before climbing aboard the wagon and sitting down with Cas’ pumpkin toward the back. Cas joins him, sitting down next to Sam and across from Dean.

He notices that Jack is missing and looks around in confusion, only to spot him a moment later, approaching the wagon with a young girl in pink leggings and a pink zipper fleece. He’s carrying her pumpkin while a relieved-looking woman follows behind with two smaller ones. She looks relieved and grateful, and as they board, Cas feels pride bloom through his entire being as the woman offers Jack her thanks.

***

“Dean.”

Dean’s smile just grows bigger, if that’s even possible. The man has been grinning from ear to ear from the moment he started carving. Now Sam had entered the kitchen, where the table was covered with newspaper which was in turn covered with pumpkin seeds and what Dean called “guts” with the glee of an excited child. He was standing in the doorway with this hands on his hips, biting his bottom lip in an attempt not to laugh. 

“I tried to stop him,” Cas offers as he frowns at his own gourd. He’s scooped out all the “guts” and is ready to begin carving. Unlike Dean, his planned design is a simple face with square eyes, a triangle nose and toothy smile— something he understands to be a more traditional jack o’lantern than what Dean is in the process of making. 

Sam just shakes his head, grabs a fun-size Snickers from the bag of assorted chocolates that’s open on the island, and unwraps it as he joins them at the table. He sits next to Cas, across from his brother, and picks up the large knife they’re using to cut the pumpkins open at the top.

Cas can’t help looking up at Dean every now and then as the man is all smiles, humming and chuckling under his breath the entire time he’s working on his creation.

Sam seems to notice, too. “You look like a deranged serial killer,” he notes as he finishes cutting the opening at the top of his pumpkin, loosens the newly created lid, and reaches inside to begin pulling out the insides. 

“Takes one to know one, Bitch.”

“Jerk.” 

The first thrown glob of stringy orange slime hits Sam square in the face, though Cas’ arm catches some seed shrapnel. Sam retaliates, and then Dean throws a handful at Cas for seemingly no reason at all. 

“So I was reading on the Internet that it’s also tradition to roast the s—” Jack’s entry and anecdote — or question, Cas has to admit he’s not entirely clear which one the young man had been aiming for — is cut off as he enters the kitchen and a stray handful of pumpkin goop hits him in the chest.

For a moment, everything is still, as Jack looks down to process the incident, and then back up at the three men who, supposedly, have more life experience and maturity than he does.

Then he darts for the table, and it’s every man for himself.

***

“That’s not a traditional design.” Jack is seemingly done asking questions, at least in this regard. He makes this observation about Dean’s carved gourd with the flat delivery of a firm statement of fact.

Even in the fading light, Cas can see Sam’s grimace. “No.”

“It’s an ass o’lantern.” Dean’s face is once again lit up with a boyish grin as he looms over his creation with a box of matches. He produces one stick, lights it, and then lights the tea light candle seated inside. Once finished, he extinguishes the match and steps back to join the others, who stand outside the Bunker, looking at the four lanterns lined up against the cement and brick of the Bunker’s exterior. The candy bag from earlier is mostly empty, but what’s left has accompanied them outside. It didn’t survive their Pumpkin War unscathed, and it sits on the ground between Sam and Cas, sticky and covered in dried pumpkin strings. Dean grabs it off the ground now and rumages for something specific, coming up triumphant a moment later with a miniature Reese’s Peanut Butter cup, which he unwraps and pops in his mouth.

“It’s highly inappropriate,” Cas offers.

“It’s a work of art,” Dean corrects around his mouthful, one finger pointed at Cas accusingly. He finishes chewing and swallowing before he continues, “‘Sides, it’s not like any kids are gonna see it. We don’t exactly get a lot of trick-or-treaters out here.”

Cas just sighs, choosing to let Dean have his moment. It’s done, anyway, and Dean is clearly quite proud of himself. These carefree moments don’t come often, he supposes, and there’s no harm in letting Dean have them where he can. He surveys the line of glowing gourds: His own traditional face; Jack’s, which resembles his own but has ears and eyebrows; Sam’s, which displays a fairly impressive cat; and Dean’s. Two hands, clearly grasping and pulling, and an open crack of light coming between them.

He sighs again.

The four of them stand there in the fading light until the sun’s gone down completely. They pass the candy back back and forth until it dwindles to empty. They talk some, but not much; Cas watches the stars come out overhead.

And then Sam says, “You guys know that kitchen’s not going to clean itself.”

Dean groans and hangs his head. Cas grins and shakes his head. Jack leans over and whispers, “Is this going to happen every year?”

Cas looks up. He looks at the brothers, who are both relaxed and happy. Dean’s still giggling at his creation. All four of them still have drying bits of pumpkin innards and stray seeds stuck to their hair and clothing and yet…

“I hope so,” he says with a sigh and a glance upward. “I truly hope so.”


End file.
